-£. 


LITTLE  GENTILE: 


DESERET  ROMANCE 


CAPTIVE  AND  EXILE 


NEW   JERUSALEM." 


MIGNONETTE. 
1 


And  Israel  shall  be  a  proverb  and  a  by-word  unto  all  people." 


CHICAGO: 

PRINTED  FOR  THE  AUTHOR  BY  THE 

RELIGIO-PHILOSOPHICAL   PUBLISHING   HOUSE. 

1879. 


921844 


LITTLE  GENTILE. 


"  Whoever  thinks  a  faultless  piece  to  see, 
Thinks  what  ne'er  was,  nor  is,  nor  ne'er  shall  be." 
Wrote  England's  gifted  son,  poetic  Pope, 
Who  thus  denied  his  sincerest  hope. 
Thus  man,  ill-fated,  in  gravitation's  chains, 
Ever  strives  to  soar  beyond  his  allotted  range. 

Readers,  no  rare  exotic  flowers  to  offer  you  have  I ; 
Only  wild  blooms  gathered  'neath  a  sullen  sky. 
.I've  roamed  in  distant  woodlands,  in  sequestered  dells, 
To  pluck  the  drooping  ferns,  and  tiny,  sweet  bluebells. 

Brooklets  murmured  a  rebuke,  birds  twitted  me  of 
stealing ; 

But,  heeding  not,  I  hurried  on,  my  motive  still  con- 
cealing. 


6  Little  Gentile. 

I  have  sprays  of  hawthorne,  sweetbrier,  and  thistle,  too, 
Roses,  laurel  and  myrtle,  and  leaves  of  mistletoe, 
And  a  sheaf  of  lilies,  leopard  lilies,  from  the  plain, 
Gaudy  in  their  gold  and  garnet,  sparkling  with  the  rain. 
"  All  these  I  give  my  readers,  trusting  that  each  wit 
Will  judge  with  the  same  spirit  that  the  author  writ." 
"  Why  mourn  I  not  for  thee 
And  with  the  southern  clouds  contend  in  tears." 

"  Come,  Isaline,  and  hear  from  stricken  heart 
A  tale  of  grief  that  bids  you  soon  depart 
From  home  and  friends. 

Fear  not,  I  pray, 

For  every  night  there  surely  dawns  a  day ; 
And  we  all  must  learn,  either  soon  or  late, 
To  bear  with  fortitude  the  stern  decrees  of  fate. 

Come  closer  to  me,  child.     Our  mutual  woe 
Makes  doubly  dear  the  treasure  that  most  go  ; 
For,  Isaline,  the  unhappy  hour  has  come 
When  you  must  leave  the  old  ancestral  home. 


Little  Gentile.  1 

Our  old  estate  in  one  brief  day  is  gone, 
And  we,  my  love,  are  penniless  and  alone. 

Your  cousin,  Annabel,  so  prostrated  by  the  shock, 

Is  sick  abed,  and  will  not  endure  the  mock 

Of  pitying  friends.     Poor  Annabel  loves  you  so, 

It  seems  almost  a  sin  to  let  you  go. 

But  'there  is  a  destiny  that  shapes  our  ends,' 

And  Isaline  will  never  want  for  friends ; 

Tho'  some  prove  false,  like  inconstant  Ray, 

Who  quite  unexpectedly  has  gone  away ; 

But  ere  he  went,  the  mercenary  dastard  wrote 

An  adieu  to  Annabel — a  meagre  little  note. 

You  pity  her,  your  eyes  with  tears  are  dim. 

Don't  worry,  child  ;  she  does  n't  care  for  him. 

The  avaricious  coward,  when  he  heard  of  our  ill  luck, 
Vamosed  at  once,  and  had  not  e'en  the  pluck 
To  call  on  us.     I  bade  her  give  him  up  forever, 
Arid  with  such  worthlessness  e'en  acquaintanceship 
dissever. 


8  Little  Gentile. 

You  go,  like  Ruth  of  old,  'mong  harvesters  to  glean, 
And  triumph  yet  will  bless  our  lovely  Isaline. 
My  dear,  be  patient.    Will  you  not  hear  me  through? 
The  last  hour,  may  be,  your  aunt  can  talk  with  you. 
How  time  does  fly  !     Your  carriage  comes  at  noon, 
And  you  scarcely  seem  to  heed  our  separation  soon. 

My  plan  is  this  :     I  have  a  sincere  friend 
In  the  far  west,  and  you  to  her  I'll  send. 
An  intruding  guest  with  her  you  cannot  be. 
She  invites  you,  love  ;  her  letter  here  you  see. 

I  this  hour  foresaw,  and  in  silence  did  prepare 
A  home  for  you,  whilst  battling  with  despair. 
You  are  better  off  to-day  than  Annabel  and  me. 
Home  and  friends  await  you,  whil'st  on  life's  sea 
We're  doomed  to  drift,  happy  to  find  a  little  cot 
In  some  secluded  place  where  we  can  be  forgot. 

Here  is  a  purse  prepared  for  present  needs ; 
And  hear,  too  soon,  the  prancing  feet  of  steeds  ! 


Little  Gentile.  9 

Your  trunks  are  packed,  and  there  is  nought  to  do. 
Oh,  Isaline,  ray  child,  unto  yourself  be  true, 

Then  false  to  none  you  cannot  be. 

Here  is  a  ray 

Of  Heaven's  own  light ;  'twill  guide  your  way. 
And  should  other  sorrows  unto  you  be  given, 
Brighter  still  will  burn  Ms  Holy  Lamp  of  Heaven. ' ' 

No  more  she  said ;  the  coup  de  main  was  made. 
The  long-planned  role  successfully  had  been  played. 
Some  crystal  tears,  expelled  from  laughing  eyes, 
Corroborated  with  as  many  sobs  and  sighs. 

The  schemer  watched  the  carriage  roll  away, 
And  said,  "  'Tis  done,  and  I've  now  no  part  to  play, 
But  be,  my  own  dear  self,  .mistress  of  Winsor  House, 
Since  I've  fortunately  caught  the  intruding  mouse. 
The  old  estate  is  hers,  not  ours.     But,  hush! 
The  balmy  zephyrs  may  have  ears,  and  rush 

To  tell  this  dark  intrigue. 

But  she  is  gone, 

And  poor  Annabel  and  I  are  really  alone. 


10  Little  Gentile. 

Tho'  this  act  may  bring  us  company.     My  brother 
May  come  from  the  unknown,  and  Isa's  mother  ; 
Each  torturing  me  with  spectral  visions  grim, 
For  what  they'd  deem  unpardonable  by  Him 
Who  created  me  with  faults  predominating  o'er 
My  better  qualities.     Would  the  same  Power — 
My  Maker — condemn  aught  that  I  do  ? 
I  know  the  right,  and  yet  the  wrong  pursue  — 
Lacking  will-force,  and  conscience  to  guide  aright, 
I  yield  to  wrong,  tho'  it  brings  eternal  blight. 

A  thorn  was  Isaline,  hidden  'neath  my  rose  of  joy — 
What  I  tenderly  transplanted  another  might  destroy ; 
In  other  clime,  our  sweet  Isa  will  live  on, 
Happily  oblivious  of  what  to-day  is  done; 
Then  all  is  well,  and  why  supinely  grieve  ? 
Whatever  is,  is  right,  I  verily  believe  !  " 

Whilst  thus  condoled  the  treacherous  queen  of  sin, 
Rustling  silks  were  heard,  and  Annabel  came  in  ; 


Little  Gentile.  n 

Poor,  prostrated  Annabel,  of  Winsors  fallen  house , 
Came  to  congratulate  the  exit  of  the  deluded  mouse, 
And  gayly  said  : 

"  How  well  you  did  succeed. 

Your  flimsy  admonition  I  feared  she  would  not  heed. 
Strange,  she  did  not  beg  to  share  with  us  the  little  cot, 
And  whilst  '  the  world  forgetting,  be  by  the  world 

forgot ;' 

But  credulous  Isaline  disobedience  never  knew  ; 
So  very  true  herself,  she  thought  the  same  of  you  !" 

"  Yes,"  whimpered  the  old  dame,  "poor  Isaline 
Deserves  our  sincere  pity.     Only  seventeen  ! 
And  on  the  cold  world  thrown,  so  young  and  fair. 
Heaven  knows,  it  was  my  pride  and  grim  despair 
That  made  me  do  it. 

I  have  not  an  itching  palm  : 

Tho'  Ray  Hamliris  wealth  would  be  a  healing  balm 
For  our  sin-pierced  hearts. 


12  Little  Gentile. 

He  loved  Isaline, 

Whilst  you  loved  Mm.     I  come  between, 
And  sunder  them  forever.     Yours  is  the  day  ! 
Look  to  your  laurels,  and  bear  the  prize  away. 

And,  should  we  our  cherished  hopes  attain, 
We'll  sue  for  pardon,  and  will  not  sue  in  vain ! 
Our  web  we'll  weave  so  well  that  unsuspecting  Ray 
Will  never  dream  us  guilty  of  what  is  done  to-day. 
Ignorance  we'll  plead,  all  knowledge  will  disown 
That  Isa  is  the  heiress,  until  the  fact  is  known. 

And  life  holds  many  chances ;  the  home  she's  gone  to 
find 

Is  but  a  myth,  my  girl,  existing  only  in  her  mind. 

In  that  semi-barbarous  city,  most  sinful  in  the  land, 

If  there's  none  to  greet  her,  will  she  the  shock  with- 
stand ? 

Disappointment  brings  delirium,  and  Death,  with  sickle 
keen, 

May  gather  in  his  sheaf  the  alluring  Isaline." 


Little  Gentile.  13 

"  Oh, mother,  hush!"  begged  Annabel,  "and bring Isa 

back  to-night ; 
Love  and  wealth  are  naught  compared  with  a  sense  of 

right. 

Let's  say  that  we  were  jesting,  and   never  let  her 

know 
That  we  would  have  the  heart  to  give  this  inhuman 

blow. 

My  sister  Isaline  has  been  all  my  sunny  life, 
And  I  cannot  stab  the  trusting  girl  with  Deception's 

knife. 

Bright  castles  you've  been  building  in  Imagination's 
air, 

But  to  fall  down  in  the  future  as  you  yourself  de- 
clare ; 

\nd  a  wicked  influence  has  o'erpowered  me  so  long, 

But  now  I  see  the  right,  and  will  defy  the  wrong. 

Cousin  loved  and  trusted  you,  and  in  going  away, 
?ho'  it  broke  her  heart,  she  bravely  would  obey  ! 


14  Little  Gentile. 

And  how  sad  'twill  be,  when,  at  her  journey's  end, 
She  finds  herself  betrayed  by  her  truest  friend  ! 
And  imagine  Isa's  little  grave  in  that  strange  land, 
And  that  her  death  was  caused  by  your  own  com- 
mand." 

"Annabel!"   the  woman  interrupted,   "your  ingra- 
titude 

Dumfounds  me !     Day  after  day,  in  dull  solitude, 
I've  brooded  o'er  your  welfare,  without  a  will 
Your  cousin  Isaline  to  either  rob  or  kill, 
As  time  will  prove  ! 

Because  my  fancy  drew 

A  picture  of  the  possible,  you  faint-hearted  grew, 
And,  cowardly  upholding  the  white  feather, 
You  beg  to  counteract  what  we  have  planned  together 
And  you  twit  of  wicked  influence,  oh,  Annabel !" 
And  again  from  evil  eyes  crocodile  tears  fell. 

"  I've  weighed  this  matter  long,"  resumed  the  daim 
In  tremulous  tones,  "  and  a  child  should  never  blam( 


Little  Gentile.  15 

Parental  judgment,  till  erring  judgment  brings 
Its  own  reproach. 

Your  cruel  censure  stings 
Worse  than  a  serpent's  tooth  ! 

And  'tis  hard  to  brook 
Your  loud  accusation  and  denouncing  look  ! 
Still,  my  purpose  none  can  foil — the  girl  is  gone, 
And  I  can  not,  will  not,  rue  the  deed  that's  done. 

Nor  penniless  is  Isaline.     I  had  a  generous  care 
To  more  than  ten  times  pay  her  journey's  fare ! 
And  another  sum  to-morrow  I  shall  send, 
Commending  her  to  the  kindness  of  my  friend — 
Kind  Providence,  who  will  ever  guide 
The  wee  barque  launched  on  Life's  uncertain  tide. 
5o,  no  great  wrong,  as  fleeting  time  will  tell ; 
But  act  your  part,  and  all  will  yet  be  well." 

No  more  she  wished  to  say,  but  left  the  room, 
Leaving  Annabel  bowed  in  penitential  gloom. 


16  Little  Gentile. 

And  thus  far  again  crafty  Might  had  won. 
But  "ever  the  right  comes  uppermost  and  ever  is  jus- 
tice done." 

"  How  much  of  joy  or  grief  a  day  can  hold, 
How  much  of  both  the  same  time  can  enfold," 
Sighed  Isaline,  as  rapidly  the  train 
Dashed  thro'  woods  and  fields  of  ripening  grain. 

"  This  morn,  yon  glorious  sun's  caressing  beams 
Roused  me  from  slumber's  happiest  dreams 

Of  what  the  day  would  bring. 

The  sad  transition 

Bewilders  me !     Instead  of  glad  fruition, 
Mar  ah' s  cup  at  eve  I  sip,  bereft,  forsaken. 
Oh,  were  this  but  a  dream  I  might  awaken ! 

A  mystery  entrammels  me.    If  auntie  loved  me  true, 
Would  she  have  hurried  me  away,  scarce  breathing 

an  adieu? 

And  Annabel  I  could  not  see  at  all,  she  was  so  sick ; 
It  cannot  be  that  I'm  the  dupe  of  Humor's  cruel 

trick ! 


Little  Gentile.  17 

Ah,  no ;  they  would  have  sent  a  messenger  ere  this 
To  take  me  back.     The  fate  of  Peri,  hurled  from  bliss, 
Is  preferable  to  mine.     They  'gainst   Paradise  re- 
belled, 

And  were  for  the  sin  from  Paradise  expelled. 
If  in  the  least  I've  sinned,  I  know  not  when ; 
I  only  know  I'm  sent  away,  not  to  return  again. 
A  pure  and  spotless  life  has  always  been  my  aim, 
And,  whatever  caused  our  trouble,  I  cannot  be  to 
blame. 

If  /  had  been  the  heiress,  instead  of  Annabel, 

On  cunning  plot  my  distracted  thoughts  would  dwell ; 

But,  as  it  is,  in  deep  midnight  of  mind, 

I  grope  for  what  I  know  I.  cannot  find. 

Nor  more  will  I  complain ;  time  soon  will  prove 

The  cause  of  this,  and  the  depth  of  doubted  love." 

Like  a  poor  dove,  that  hid  beneath  her  wing 

The  arrow  that  pierced  her  heart,  Isaline  could  fling 


is  Little  Gentile. 

Her  grief  aside,  awaiting  quietly  the  hour 
When  the  same  grief  would  try  her  latent  power. 

"She  has  no  force  of  character,"  the  cynic  reader  , 

smiles, 
"  Or  now  she  would  not  be  the  dupe  of  Deception's 

wiles." 

And  so  it  does  appear;  but  character  is  stuff; 

We'll  compare  to  diamond  cut,  and  diamond  in  the 

rough, 

Or  to  gold  in  dross,  for  which  we  the  furnace  need, 
The  fiery,  flaming  furnace,  to  make  it  gold  indeed ; 
Our  stronger,  better  nature  is  a  hidden  thing  for  aye, 
Unless  trials  and  vicissitudes  burn  the  drop  away. 

To  joys  accustomed  from  her  infant  years, 
Isa  could  not  comprehend  the  sudden  flow  of  tears — 
The  story  told  in  anguish,  sobs  and  sighs  well  feigned, 
O'er  the  unsuspecting  girl  complete  influence  gained. 


Little  Gentile.  19- 

In  dumb  amaze  she  blindly  did  obey, 
And  kissed  the  hand  that  pointed  her  away, 
And  kissed  the  lips  that  late  to  her  had  lied, 
And  loved  the  heart  that  love  to  her  denied. 

And  so  the  world  moves  on,  sin  foremost  in  the  chase  ; 
But  "not  always  to  the  sivift  does  justice  give  the 
race." 

Now  Ariel,  on  tireless  wing,  flies  o'er  Columbia's  do- 
main, 

A  broad  expanse  before  her  spread  of  forest,  mount 
and  plain. 

From  Atlantic  to  Pacific  coast  her  joyous  flight  began, 

And  thus  she  praised  the  wondrous  work  of  nature 
and  of  man. 

Not  long  ago  I  wandered  here,  and  found  the  pride  of 

earth, 
Unknown  to  all  th'  other  world,  a  land  of  glorious 

worth,  r 


20  Little  Gentile. 

Concealing  in  her  bosom  treasures  vast  of  gems  and 
gold, 

Mineral  mines  of  every  kind,  place  and  value  yet  un- 
told. 

Mighty  rivers  rolling  to  the  seas,  on  whose  turged  tide 
Boat,  or  ship  of  man,  ne'er  had  been  known  to  glide, 
And  deep,  tangled  wild  woods,  where  axe  was  never 

heard, 
Where  silence  was  unbroken,  save  by  savage,  beast  or 

bird. 

Spontaneous  vegetation  grew  in  its  appropriate  clime, 
As  seasons  came  and  went,  and  left  no  trace  of  time ; 
And  untamed  herds,  innumerable,  in  happy  freedom 

grazed 
On  boundless  verdant  meads. 

His  God  the  Indian  praised, 

In  humble  wigwams,  where  gorgeous  temples  stand, 
Blest  handiwork  of  art . 


Little  Gentile.  21 

With  Reason's  torch  in  hand, 
Progress  came  in  the  starless  way,  an d,  lo  !  from  shore 

to  shore, 
A  nation  see,  haloed  in  self-wrought  glory  and  in 

power ! 

First  came  vanquished  followers  of  the  lowly  Naza- 

rene, 
Seeking  refuge  here ;  and  in   Nature's  tabernacles 

green 

They  sang  glad  songs  of  praise  to  Him  who  gave 
An  ear  to  prayer,  and  ransom  to  Bigot's  slave. 

The  Holy  Inquisition!  as  void  of  truth  in  name 
As  were  its  stakes  and  racks  of  mercy  and  of  shame, 
They,  the  edict  of  their  Bible,  "  Thou  shalt  not  kill" 

denied, 
For  oft  their  impious  hands  in  human  gore  were  dyed. 

Thro'  the  records  of  the  past  I  find  no  darker  page 
Than  where  religious  wars  in  all  their  fury  rage ; 


22  Little  Gentile. 

But  night  recedes  as  day  awakes  the  world. 
Lo,  freedom's  ensign  o'er  Columbia  furled ! 

Gathering  from  all  nations,  a  mingling  of  all  creeds,. 
Th'  heathen  with  his  god  of  clay,  th'  Christian  with 
her  beads. 

All  bending  'neath  the  canopy  of  one  azure  sky, 
Some  praising  gods  an  earth,  others  gods  on  high. 
Each  faction  has  a  god,  no  matter  what  they  say ; 
If  all  adored  one  Deity,  why  divide  the  way  ? 

In  every  way  sectarians  go  seeking  for  the  goal 
That  their  gods  have  promised  the  immortal  soul. 
And  is  the  soul  immortal  ?  argues  man  alone, 
And  proof  of  more  than  mortal  life,  he  argues  none* 

Frown  not,  0  ye  of  piety,  for  I  assume  the  right 
To  sing  your  praise  or  censure  in  my  Ariel  flight ; 
And  more  praise  than  censure  to  all  men  belong, 
As  yet  shall  be  shown  in  trans-continental  song. 


Little  Gentile.  23 

A  being  of  the  air,  and  all  earthly  climes, 
Blame  me  not,  if  I  appear  censorious  at  times. 
This  we  know,  Progression  never  can  achieve 
The  power  to  make  all  minds  one  tiling  believe  ; 
The  human  mind,  grand  enigma  of  all  minds. 
And  stranger  to  itself. 

The  delineator  finds 

Himself  ensnared,  when  he  attempts  to  tell 
The  nature  of  thoughts,  and  how  and  where  they 
dwell. 

"Know  thyself"  said  a  great  philosopher  of  old, 
Who  could  not  do  himself  what  he  had  told 
Inferior  men  to  do. 

As  an  atom  is  subject  of  contention, 
So  one  thought,  reversed,  will  bring  its  mate,  dissen- 
tion. 

From  all  the  plains,  reaching  from  sea  to  sea, 
Two  blades  of  grass  alike  you  cannot  bring  to  me, 
Nor  ne'er  shall  be,  as  countless  seasons  roll 
Their  rapid  rounds ;  nor  soul  the  counterpart  of  soul. 


24  Little  Gentile. 

So,  in  disunion  wild,  the  seen  and  unseen  range. 
Obedient  to  one  immutable  law.  Nature's  change ! 

Clip  not  the  wings  of  thought ;  unhindered  let  it  fly  ; 
To  the  remotest  bounds  of  Wisdom's  starry  sky. 
And  shut  not  the  eyes  of  Faith,  when  Truth  afar 
Gleams  on  her  way,  her  only  guiding  star — 
A  mournful  fact,  oft  on  Ariel  wings  I  find — 
Faith,  blinded,  sent  forth  to  lead  the  blind. 

An  honest,  upright  man,  is  dear  old  Orthodox, 
Called  in  a  dream  to  lead  his  neighboring  flocks 
From  the  broad  road  that  leads  to  flames  eternal 
To  elysian  fields  of  life  and  bliss  supernal. 

Both  the  shepherd  and  the  sheep  devoutly  eschew 

evil, 
And  humbly  serve  the  Lord  because  they  fear  the 

devil 
And  his  gulf  of  fire  and  sulphur.     Yet,  so  timorous 

are  they, 
That  the  light  of  reason  dawning  o'er  their  way 


Little  Gentile.  25 

They  durst  not  see,  lest  from  Free  Gf-race  they  fall, 
Tumbling  into  torment,  shepherd,  sheep  and  all. 

And  now  behold,  'neath  glorious  Summer  skies, 
Beautiful  Columbia  in  all  her  splendor  lies. 

Swift   change   the   scenes,    from   Neptune  s  sea-girt 

strand, 
To  Cornucopia,  dealing  plenty  o'er  the  land. 

"  See  Pan  with  flocks,  with  fruits  Pomona  crowned. 
See  Flora  strew  her  garlands  o'er  the  ground." 
See  cities,  towns  and  mansions  of  the  great 
Adorning  all  the  Federal  ship  of  State. 

Hear  the  shout  of  young  America,  on  balmy  breezes 

borne, 

And  in  th'  distance  hear  the  huntsman's  shrilly  horn  ; 
And,  ah,  too  soon  the  pursuer  and  pursued 
Will  wrest  for  life  and  death  in  Nature's  solitude. 


26  Little  Gentile. 

I  loathe  the  sight  of  Death,  and  all  that  gives 

Grief  or  pain  to  man,  as  to  aught  that  lives. 

Life  is  sweet,  and  dismal  Death  a  dread 

To  all  that  breathe — until  Hope  has  fled. 

In  darkness  hid,  the  severing  knife  and  visage  grim — 

Death,  welcome,  takes  what  once  was  judged  to  him. 

Away,  on  outspread  wings,  the  American  Eagle  see, 
Speeding  his  sunward  way,  bright  emblem  of  the  free  ! 
A  hundred  years  ago  Columbia  claimed  the  bird, 
And  his  shriek  of  liberty  she  ever  since  has  heard. 

Britain's  wondrous  Lion,  roaming  from  his  lair, 
Sought,  but  vainly  sought,  the  great  Eagle  to  ensnare. 
In  proud  defiance,  and  victorious,  see  him  upward  fly, 
The  king  of  birds  !  from  native  rocks  into  native  sky ! 

And  when    strong   Rebellion    strove  the   nation  to 

divide, 
Then  the  brave  and  loyal  Eagle  sought  the  soldier's 

side, 


Little  Gentile.  27 

Flying  over  blood  and  carnage,  watching  near  and  far ! 
Hear  him  shrieking  "  victory"  above  the  din  of  war ! 
See  him  clutch  in  talons  strong  the  glorious  Stripes 

and  Stars, 
And  in  triumph  bear  them  o'er  th'  foeman's  fallen  Bars  ! 

Hail,  dear  old  Hudson  River!  grand  memorial  stream, 
Where  Fulton  launched  his  crude  power  of  steam. 
On  your  charming  banks  of  dense  drooping  wood, 
In  glad  surprise,  sweet  groups  of  Naiads  stood, 
Watching  the  bold  inventor,  and  his  infant  boat, 
Along  your  course  in  joyous  triumph  float. 
And  all  the  little  Naiads  rejoiced  wildly  then, 
Upon  this  grand  achievement  of  water  and  of  men. 

Long  in  Oblivion 's  shade  the  crown  of  Locomotion  lay, 
Until  star-eyed  Science  drove  the  gloom  away, 
And  to  plodding  man  the  priceless  trophy  gave, 
That  made  him  king  of  labor,  instead  of  drudging 
slave. 


28  Little  Gentile. 

Far  away,  away,  with  speed  and  power  sublime, 
Behold  steam-breathing  steeds  racing  with  Time ! 
With  vain  old  father  Time,  who,  back  in  ages  dim, 
Ne'er  dreamed  that  Tide  would  ever  cope  with  him, 
Nor  that  Tide  would  ever  triumph  over  Tide, 
As  he  has  found  on  all  the  waters  wide. 

O'er  lands  they  rush,  the  fire-belching  coursers  who 
Headlong  plunge  the  midnight  tunnels  through  ; 
Round  mountain  curves  in  giddy  flight  they  sweep, 
Now  swing  aloft  their  burdens  o'er  the  deep, 
The  dark  abyss,  as  if  to  prank  with  timid  breath, 
Or  tantalize  the  gaping  jaws  of  Death ! 

0  Antiquity  !  proud  height  of  Oriental  blaze, 
Behold  the  work  of  "these  degenerate  days." 
Progress  rampant  with  more  than  mortal  force  ! 
How  would  you  trade  with  us  your  "Trojan  horse?" 

And  before  them  flies — before  each  reinless  steed — 
The  Electric  Thought,  with  supernatural  speed ! 


Little  Gentile.  29 

Guarding  each  way,  bright  messenger  of  Heaven, 
And  most  glorious  gift  that  to  man  is  given. 

Nor  on  land  alone  traverses  the  captive  of  the  skies  ; 
But  'neath  the  ocean  wave,  around  the  world  it  flies. 
Faithfully  obeying  the  behests  of  mortal  man, 
Whose  individual  life  on  earth  is  but  a  span. 
E'en  he  who  dared  to  drag  this  victim  from  the  sky 
Was  born  to  "perish,  in  the  mingling  storm  to  live  and 
die." 

Like  "Imperial  Ccesar,  dead  and  turned  to  day" 
Franklin  "  might  stop  a  hole  to  turn  the  wind  away" 
"  For  they  are  gone,  alas!  we  know  not  where," 
Wails  restless  man,  dealing-  his  own  despair. 
"  Through  eternal  veil  we  cannot  see,  so  thick, 

so  thin ; 

Oh,  would  but  two  return  to  us  who  have  entered  in. 
And  bring  glad  tidings  back,  that  beyond  the  tomb 
Lives  every  soul  in  amaranthine  bloom  !" 


so  Little  Gentile. 

Oh,  mad,  aspiring  man,  your  pinions  clipped, 
O'er  eternal  walls  ye  cannot  fly  till  ye  have  sipped 
The  noxious  cup  of  Death. 

'Tis  said  that  Paradise 

Once  sent  back  a  soul,  who  had  doubly  paid  the  price 
Of  passing  through  the  gates  of  light,  and  that  he 
Proclaimed  eternal  life  to  man. 

They  sought  to  see 

His  wounded  side  and  hands,  for  they  denied 
That  he  was  Jesus  whom  they  had  crucified ; 
And  when  he  proved  himself,  they  still  refused  to 

know, 
But  wrapt  themselves  in  unbelief,  man's  deepest  woe. 

Through  skies,  and  o'er  seas,  ambitious  man  may  sail, 
But  Heaven's  stupendous  walls  he  cannot  scale ; 
And,  foiled  in  this,  in  incredulity  profound, 
The  skeptic  bows  himself  unto  the  ground, 
And  worships  what  he  sees.     Because,  forsooth, 
He  saw  not  Heaven,  in  Heaven  there  is  no  truth  ! 


Little  Gentile.  si 

How  rapidly  the  varied  scenes  appear; 
And  pass  as  rapidly  "among  the  things  that  were." 
Joyfully  I  have  flown,  a  thousand  miles  or  more, 
Since  I  began  my  flight  from  Atlantic's  shore. 

Enchanting  are  the  views  of  nature's  panorama  grand, 
And  in  his  works  innumerable  Art  shows  a  master 

hand. 

E'en  wow,  I  cannot  sing  the  praise  of  one-half  I  see, 
And  to-day  is  but  the  germ  of  the  great  yet  to  be. 

Down  in  yon  field  of  rankly  growing  corn, 
The  plow-boy  see — a  little  plebeian  born — 
Unmindful  that  his  hat  lets  in  the  sun  and  rain, 
And  that  his  Sunday  clothes  are  coarse  and  plain. 
Guiding  the  plow  that  turns  the  damp,  dark  soil, 
He  dreams  of  future,  and  forgets  his  toil. 
From  the  boy  who  wields  in  mimic  power  th'  whip, 
The  man  ideal  sails  on  mighty  seas  the  ship, 
Or  holds  o'er  ranks  of  men  the  saber  of  command, 
And  beholds  himself  a  ruler  of  the  land. 


32  Little  Gentile. 

"Whistling  his  marches  in  earnest  childish  joy, 
Who  would  prophesy  this  vulgar  little  boy 
The  country's  coming  man  ? 

Columbian  fields 

Are  so  productive ;  their  abundant  yields 
Are  of  both  kingdoms,  regardless  of  the  lowly  born. 
Sovereigns  are  often  seen  growing  'mong  th'  corn. 
Kirtland,  a  "Mormon  stake  of  Zion,"  lo! 
And  its  deserted  Temple,  many  years  ago 
There  came  an  enthusiastic  Mormon  band, 
With  amusing  "  pageantry,"  to  possess  the  land — 
To  found  a  city  appropriate  to  their  patriarchal  cause 
And  to  obey  their  Prophet  instead  of  moral  laws. 
Their  leaders  claimed  that  he  was  led  by  flaming  sword ; 
That  he  was  commissioned  immediate  from  th'  Lord 
"  To  redeem  Israel's  children  from  the  wickedness  of 

man ;" 

To  gather  them  together  ere  the  wrath  of  God  began. 
That  angels  showed  him  where,  hidden  in  th'  ground, 
Ancient  prophecies  on  golden  plates  were  found ; 


Little  Gentile.  33 

That  heavenly  visitants  would  often  with  him  dwell ; 
That,  responding  to  his  prayers,  manna  from  heaven 

fell; 

That  he  could  command  th'  rough  prairie  gales 
To  waft  into  their  tents  numerous  flocks  of  quails ; 
That  he  could  heal  the  sick  and  raise  the  dead, 
E'en  when  the  flickering  flame  had  forever  fled ! 

Tell  me,  abandoned  Temple,  fast  falling  to  decay, 
Why  did  not  your  Prophet's  God  defend  thee  on  that 

day 

When  your  immaculate  Messiah  by  rabid  law  was  slain, 
And  his  clan  of  followers  were  scattered  o'er  the  plain? 
Why  did  not  th'  flaming  sword  gather  in  devouring 

blaze 

The  men  who  slew  the  Saints  of  the  Latter  Days  ? 
Or,  why  did  not  your  Prophet  escape  vengeful  ire, 
By  going  up,  like  Elijah,  in  a  chariot  of  fire  ? 

I  would  not  call,  from  the  cross  come  down ; 
Away  with  Prejudice  and  her  unfriendly  frown. 


34  Little  Gentile. 

But  sacred  Truth  above  all  else  I  prize — 
Fallen  angels'  souvenir,  brought  from  Paradise. 
Dark  world  't  would  be  without  th'  heavenly  gem, 
Most  precious  jewel  in  Honor's  diadem; 
Guiding  e'en  Hope  through  life's  varied  vales, 
And  giving  equipoise  to  blind  Justice  scales. 

Laws  and  records  of  three  thousand  years  ago 
•Illy  compare  with  now,  as  all  truth-seekers  know. 
The  acme  of  ancient  lore  thought  the  round  earth  flat; 
That  the  sun  revolved,  an  obliging  flame ;  and  that, 
To  succeed  in  human  butchery,  General  Joshua 
Bade  the  sun  and  moon  stand  still  a  day  ; 
And  down  the  corridors  of  time  reverberates  th'  news 
That  the  mighty  orbs  obeyed  in  favor  of  th'  Jews. 

Oh,  wondrous  warrior  !  supernatural  in  military  skill ! 
Most  marvelous  act,  to  make  the  sun  stand  still, 
Whilst  you  defied  a  law,  transcendent  from  above, 
And  foiled,  perchance,  the  maneuverings  of  Jove. 


Little  Gentile.  35 

Through  Futurity's  dull  mist  behold  the  dawn 
Of  the  gladdest  day  that  man  has  looked  upon ! 
Tale-telling  Tradition  gone  with  religious  Obloquy ; 
And  Truth  proclaiming  fearlessly,  "/  am  J." 

Rapid  flight,  midway  two  oceans  vast  between, 
Before  me  spreads  as  beautiful  as  the  past  has  been. 
What  glorious  power,  to  cleave  the  ambient  air, 
To  dare  what  mortal  man  can  only  dream  to  dare ! 
Tired  at  last  with  pedestrian  rules  complying, 
In  mystic  Dream  Land,  behold  the  pedant  flying, 
Shouting,  "Adieu  to  Terra  Firma,  adieu  for  evermore!" 
And  flying  high  and — lo,  he  lights  upon  the — floor! 

Poor  fallen  man,  if  ere  this  ye  had  not  fell, 

None  would  be  more  ready  to  deplore  than  Ariel 

Your  sad  condition ;  but  your  great  sire,  you  see, 

Together  with  his  spouse,  fell  beneath  the  tree 

Of  Life  and  Death — a  tremendous  fall! 

And  yet  I  have  not  heard  that  they  complained  at  all. 


36  Little  Gentile. 

Of  immortality,  and  lovely  Eden,  now  bereft, 
Unmurmuring,  young  Adam  took  little  Eve,  and  left. 

Stretching  far  away,  Nebraska's  agricultural  plain, 
Checked  with  her  meads,  and  fields  of  waving  grain  — 
No  fairer,  better  land  around  the  world  I  meet 
Than  this,  renowned  for  quantity  and  quality  of  wheat. 

G-reat  American  Desert  '  t  was  called  in  days  agone ; 
Now  by  man  transformed  to  field  and  verdant  lawn, 
Proving  what  Labor  from  dormant  Nature  can  disclose, 
And  that  the  "Desert  will  blossom  as  the  rose." 

Along  this  route,  guided  by  Adventurer's  hand, 
Traveled  the  fanatic  Mormon  to  his  Promised  land ; 
Like  a  pilgrim  facing  Mecca,  th'  Saints  to  Zion  bound 
Looked  not  back,  but  hurried  on  from  unholy  ground, 
Shaking  th'   dust  off  their  feet  'gainst  th'  Gentiles 

who 
Warred  with  the  "wreck  of  Israel"  and  their  Prophet 

slew. 


Little  Gentile.  37 

So  now  the  white  haired  devotee  his  thrilling  story 

tells 
Whilst  he  beyond  the  Rocky  Range  safe  in  Zion 

dwells. 

Here  encamped  the  Saints,  and  spent  the  night 
In  song  and  revelry.     A  religious  rite 
Merriment  was  to  them. 

Day's  bright  crown 

Was  pouring  all  his  golden  splendor  down 
On  pious  Contentment,  dispatching  frugal  fare, 
Or  joining  the  leader  in  fervent  morning  prayer. 

Pots,  pans  and  pails,  accoutrements  all, 
Were  stowed  in  carts  and  wagons. 

"No  evil  can  befall 
A  day  so  fair,"  they  said. 

Each  docile  steer, 
Yoked  to  his  mate,  awaited  th'  driver's  whip  to  hear,, 


38  Little  Gentile, 

When  lo !  an  ox,  whom  Satan  that  morn  had 
Tampered  with  and  made  the  tame  brute  mad, 
Broke  all  restraint,  and  plunged  o'er  the  plain, 
His  furious  flight  infecting  all  the  other  train. 

On  they  madly  rushed,  regardless  of  each  load 
That  they  had  meekly  pulled  along  the  sandy  road ; 
Bellowing  hideously,  they  trod  the  turfy  ground 
Swift  as  the  deer  before  the  pursuing  hound. 
Men  shouted,  women  shrieked,  children  in  air 
Were  tossed  'mid  household  goods  that  wifely  care 
Had  packed  away  so  well. 

A  Pandemonium  rattle 

Made  the  crashing  vehicles  among  the  crazy  cattle  ! 
Supreme  Destruction  ruled  the  mad  stampede, 
Gloating  far  and  wide  o'er  Abram's  scattered  seed 
And  plunder  ! 

0,  Mormonite !  power  had  not  ye 
To  avert  the  course  of  that  dread  catastrophe  ! 


Little  Gentile.  39 

Preach  what  you  will,  but  doesn't  it  seem  queer 
That  you  could  raise  the  dead,  but  couldn't  stop  a 
steer  ? 

***** 

Satire,  despoiler  of  peace !  ugliest  combination 
Of  ugliest  evils !  my  utter  detestation 
And  besetting  sin  !  would  that  ye  were  gone, 
Dark  spirit !     Forever  nigh,  ye  have  undone 
Half  my  joys. 

Looking  two  ways,  I  never  know 
When  you  will  deal  the  quick  and  vengeful  blow  ! 
One  eye  looks  approval — I  lave  in  Lethe's  stream — 
Whilst  ye  aim  with  t'  other,  and   stab  my   favorite 
theme. 

Away   with  you,  your  two-story  eyes  and   one-story 

pate 

Prove  ye  shade  of  the  infernal,  and  a  son  of  Hate. 
In  his  dreadful  den  I  will  not  beard  the  lion, 
Nor  with  combative  satire  will  I  enter  Zion. 


40  Little  Gentile. 

"Follow  me  'mong  the  Holies,  and  from  the  air  I'll 

fan, 

And  become  as  mortal  man  on  the  Terrestrial  ball!" 


^'Ah,  what  a  pet  you're  in,  my  angry  Ariel  sprite ! 

Why  now  condemn  the  soul  of  your  delight  ? 

Would  you  dare  enter  Zion  unarmed,  alone, 

The  avenging  angels  quickly  would  atone 

For  what  we've  said,  by  spilling  out  your  blood. 

No  tragedy  more  sublime  since  Noah's  flood. 

Yet,  combative  as  I  am,  I'd  shun  the  scene  profound — 

Angels,  and  Ariel,  battling  o'er  holy  ground. 

Sweet  morsel  for  sensation  !    But  I  forget, 
Ye  cannot  die ;  ye  are  immortal  yet. 
Loving  the  truth,  inviolate  is  your  vow. 
Ariel,  Mortality  waits  upon  you  now ! 
Breathing  to  you  his  evanescent  breath, 
Bidding  you  welcome,  to  th'  world  of  death ! 


Little  Gentile.  41 

With  you  I  have  crossed  the  forbidden  pales. 
Behold  me  here  in  Ephraim's  sacred  vales! 
How  fortunate  our  fall  among  th'  Saints  of  God — 
No  crime  nor  vice  in  Zion's  blest  abode ! 

Attune  your  lyre,  and  join  the  Empyrean  throng ; 
Let  Wahsatch  hear  that  Satire  lives  in  song  ! 
Let  sorrowing  man,  seeking  Grilead's  balm, 
Know  that  in  Zion  waves  Salvation's  palm ! 
That  pilgrims  pluck  from  the  tree  that  thrives 
On  Jordan's  banks ; 

That  Jacob  and  his  wives 
In  happiest  wedlock  live ; 

That  saints  give  up  the  ghost, 
But  to  return  with  Christ  and  his  Elysian  host, 
Who  cometh  soon,  to  reign  a  thousand  years, 
"With  power  and  dominion." 

That  death  and  tears, 

With  Lucifer,  shall  from  the  earth  be  driven; 
That  Temples  are  palaces  for  the  King  of  Heaven. 


42  Little  Gentile. 

"  That  wolves  with  lambs  shall  graze  the  verdant  mead, 
And  boys  in  flowery  bands  the  tiger  lead." 

When  Resurrection  ushers  glad  Millennial  morn, 
When  th'   saved  come  forth   at   sound  of  Gabriels 

horn, 

When  Mountain  Meadow's  grave  shall  ope  and  send 
An  hundred  souls,  The  Great  Tribunal  to  attend  ! 

Ah,  gazing  on  yon  dome,  ye  stumble  on  a  skull. 
Heed  it  not,  I  pray,  for  the  Holy  Land  is  full 
Of  righteousness. 

What  sudden  exit  doth  unwelcome  Satire  make, 
Whilst  I  as  sudden  from  my  dreams  awake — 
Dreams  of  light  and  shadow — broken  dreams, 
Threads  of  doubt  and  despair,  woven  with  th'  gleams 
Of  hope ! 

Soul-piercing  pang,  to  awake  and  find 
That  I  am  mortal,  and  blindest  of  the  blind. 


Little  Gentile.  43 

Oh,  could  I  remain  in  the  blissful  realms  of  sleep, 
And  mortal  curse  ne'er  share — to  awake  and  weep. 

How  high  in  air  sweet  Fancy  winged  her  flight, 
But  to  fall  at  last  in  deepest,  darkest  night ! 

How  oft  I  whisper  to  my  soul,  "Peace;  be  still! 
"He  doeth  all  things  well." 

His  infinite  will 

Tends  to  our  everlasting  weal,  and  not  eternal  woe, 
Or  dissolution  of  the  soul ! 

This  we  know, 

Present  life  is  real,  the  world  is  good  and  fair, 
And,  tho'  but  a  breath,  why  give  it  to  despair? 

Let's  seize  the  golden  moments,  as  they  fleeting  fly, 
And  cull  their  hidden  joys. 

To  live  and  die, 

Mortality's  sole  aim.    Insolvable  is  more  than  this; 
And  when  we  go  beyond  and  find  eternal  bliss, 


44  Little  Gentile. 

Useless  was  our  murmuring. 

And  should  the  vital  spark 

Extinguished  be  in  chaos,  unfathomable  and  dark, 
How  useless  still  our  murmuring  ! 

And  often  turns 

Upon  me  my  infuriated  soul,  and  madly  spurns 
My  soothing,  raving. 

Away,  and  tell  your  puerile  tale 
To  bedridden  crones  and  babes ;  but  seek  not  to  segale, 
With  simpering  sophistry,  a  distracted  soul ! 

/,   whose  power    can  scale    the  firmament,  and  th' 

whole 
Of  wonderful  creation  can  traverse  with  speed  of 

thought ! 

I,  in  my  prison  house  of  human  flesh,  am  taught, 
"Peace,  be  still,"  and  "He  doeth  all  things  well" 
Watching,  fearing,  I  only  hear  Deaths  knell, 
And  the  dull  thud  of  clay,  falling  upon  clay. 
"Earth  to  earth  and  dust  to  dust,"  we  pass  away; 


Little  Gentile.  45 

So  doth  the  grass,  the  empire  and  th'  crown. 
"  Man  cometh  up  as  a  flower  and  is  cut  down;" 
And  falls  he  not  with  the  ill-fated  bloom, 
Back  to  earth,  all  sharing  the  same  doom? 

No  answer  comes  through  swiftly  rolling  years, 
As  I  watch  for  beacon  light,  through  a  mist  of  tears ; 
So  wails  my  soul,  so  combat  soul  and  I, 
One  thought  taunting  both — we  live  and  die. 

"A  bruised  reed"  I  would  assuage- the  grief 
Of  other  souls,  lost  in  dark  unbelief. 
Drifting  myself  upon  a  moonless  sea, 
No  star  of  Bethlehem — 

Ah,  who  is  she 

In  th'  gloaming?  young,  and  wonderfully  fair, 
Robed  in  pure  white,  and  veil  of  golden  hair, 
Bright  embodiment  of  all  that's  pure  and  good, 
Unconsciously  intruding  upon  my  solitude ! 
Who  is  she  ?  and  how  comes  she  here 
To  the  abode  of  wretched  doubt  and  fear  ? 


46  Little  Gentile. 

No  apparition,  but  a  beautious  child  of  earth 
And  sweet  contentment,  and  of  different  birth  — 
Th'  plebeian  throng  surrounding  —  seeming 
At  home  as  she  plucks  the  terrace  rose,  deeming 
Herself  alone — 

Hark  !  from  her  swan-like  throat 
A  low,  sweet  song  upon  the  air  doth  float. 

Implicit  trust  in  God !     Oh,  hallowed  hour, 

That  shows  me  perfect  peace,  and  the  divine  power 

Of  Faith! 

Recede,  ye  shades,  and  let  me  see 
The  angelic  guide,  that  Heaven  has  sent  to  me ; 
And  whither  she  goes,  would  I  could  follow  fast, 
Lest  in  doubt's  dungeon  my  soul  again  is  cast. 

Aye.  soul,  what  think  you  of  that  song  ? 
Would  trust  like  that  to  earth  alone  belong  ? 
Would  soul  like  that,  when  the  mortal  part  is  dead, 
Lie  down  and  sleep  in  clay's  eternal  bed? 


Little  Gentile.  47 

Hark  !   faint  footfalls  !     She  comes  this  way, 

And  I  will  speak  to  her  ere  the  glorious  day 

Is  gone — ere  the  swift  approach  of  night 

Shuts  out  forever  this  new-found  ray  of  light. 

What  perfect  grace  and  beauty,  smiling,  yet  serene — 

The  little  Gentile  of  whom  I've  heard — Isaline. 


'"''Like  rays  of  stars  that  meet  in  space, 

And  mingle  in  a  bright  embrace," 

Soul  met  soul  in  the  gathering  gloom  of  eve, 

Our  exiled  Isaline,  and  skeptic  Genevieve : 

Ariel,  whose  scoffing  song  revealed 

The  dark  unrest  that  her  soul  concealed — 

Bright  Genevieve,  captive  in  her  father's  home, 

Sweet  suburban  place  whither  Isaline  had  come 

Three  months  ago. 

Yet  they  scarcely  knew 

The  existence  of  each  other,  until  chance  threw 
The  twain  together. 


48  Little  Gentile. 

Genevieve  was  called 
Insane.     Dear  reader,  be  not  appalled, 
For  reputation  fair  has  suffered  worse  than  this. 
People  will  talk,  you  know,  tho'  they  often  miss 
The  truth. 

Whether  the  girl  was  mad  or  not 
I  cannot  tell.     I  only  know  her  saintly  sire  got 
Extremely  mad  himself,  when  she  refused  to  wed 
The  Prophet,  whose  pretty  little  parlors,  and  bed, 
( A  la  the  spider)  with  silken  curtains  hung, 
Made  it  a  grand  inducement  to  be  Mrs.  Young. 

But  the  Prophet  turned  him  round,  and  went  away, 
Not  promising  to  call  upon  another  day  ! 
For  well  he  knew  that  'mong  Zioris  daughters  fair 
Many  would  eagerly  be  caught  by  his  golden  snare. 

And  when  he  was  gone,  the  knowing  neighbors  said 
The  old  gent  turned  on  Genevieve,  and  read 


Little  Gentile.  49 

Her  such  a  lecture  as  she  ne'er  had  heard 
Before ! 

"  Oh,  Genevieve  !"  he  roared,  "ye  have  stirred 
My  wrath  beyond  control.     Ungrateful  girl, 
Swine  before  whom  we've  thrown  the  pearl ! 
Do  you  not  know  the  Judgment  Day  is  nigh, 
And  that  all  women  in  their  graves  will  lie 
Until  the  coming  of  the  second  Resurrection, 
If  in  the  first  they've  not  a  husband's  fond  protec- 
tion ? 

And,  next  to  this,  it  has  often  grieved  me  sore, 
To  see  the  brethren,  a  dozen  men  or  more, 
Cold  and  haughtily  from  other  folks  withdraw, 
And  brag  about  their  rich  and  famous  son-in-law ; 
Whilst  I  am  looked  upon,  by  the  uppish  clan, 
As  only  Bishop  Warren,  a  plain,  plodding  man  ! 
Whilst  upon  you,  Vievie,  a  fortune  I've  expended, 
And  for  my  pains,  my  fondest  hopes  are  ended. 
From  wicked  Babylon  you  bring  your  foolish  pride, 
Scorning  our  Prophet,  and  all  the  Church  beside. 


50  Little  Gentile. 

Three  days  debate  the  question ;  if  then  you've  not 

relented, 
I  shall  conclude  that  your  mind  is  demented." 

No  enviable  lot,  a  pretty  Mormon  girl  to  be — 

A  host  of  married  suitors  calling  round  to  see 

If  ye  wish  to  be  awakened  first  Resurrection  Day  ! 

And  if  she's  sleepy  headed — inclined  to  answer  nay, 

Have  an  ugly  papa  fly  into  a  scolding  fit, 

And  finish  up  by  saying  that  she  has  lost  her  wit. 

Poor  Genevieve  !     By  and  by,  another  suitor  came, 
A  bishop,  a-courtin'  the  "Babylonian  flame." 
True,  he'd  a  wife  in  the  city,  and  another  one  at  home, 
A  lovely  country  place,  where  there  was  ample  room 
For  Grenevieve;  but  she  refused  him  flat,  of  course, 
Whereupon  her  father  stormed  until  he  was  hoarse, 
Condemning  her  as  trash  in  the  matrimonial  mart, 
Since  she'd  not  wed  th'  Prophet,  nor  Enoch  Achen- 
heart  — 


Little  Gentile.  51 

The  distinguished  Brigham  Young,  Zion's  chosen  man, 
And  the  young  and  wealthy  Enoch,  bishop  of  Valley 

Tan, 

Who  had  "  loved  and  lost ;"  but  the  neighbors  heard 
Him  vow,  that  she  yet  should  be  his  better  —  third. 

Next  a  handsome  elder  the  haughty  beauty  sought ; 
An  unmarried  man,  success  was  sure,  he  thought. 
"Be  mine,"  he  swore,  "  and  by  the  powers  above 
No  other  wife  shall  ever  share  my  love. 
Polygamy  abhorring,  one  wife  alone  I'll  claim. 
Be  that  one,  sweet  Genevieve,  and  name  — ' ' 
"Out  of  my  presence!"  said  the  girl;  "away!" 
He  went,  and  wedded  sisters  twain  that  day. 
Oh,  horrid  blot  upon  the  nation's  face ! 
To  give  a  thing  like  this  a  dwelling  place ! 

White  with  the  frosts  of  three  score  years  and  ten, 
Next  old  Jacob  came,  pleading  for  his  favorite  Ben. 
"  Sister  Vievie,"  he  cautiously  began,  "  rumors  of  late 
Have  worried  me  concerning  your  celestial  fate. 


52  Little  Gentile. 

They  say  ye'll  wed  with  none ;  that  all  Zion 
Cannot  send  a  suitor  whom  ye  can  rely  on ; 
That  ye  are  determined  to  die  an  old  maid, 
And  of  the  coming  wrath  ye  are  not  afraid. 
Oh,  daughter  of  Israel !  I  am  alarmed  for  you  ! 
Choose  at  once,  I  entreat,  an  honest  man  and  true. 
And  among  the  brethren  I  do  not  know  of  any 
More  willing  to  save  you  —  than  my  son  —  Benny. 
'Tis  a  timely  warning,  'gainst  Heavenly  retrospection, 
That  might  point  a  flaw  to  prevent  your  resurrection." 

What  more  he  said  I  do  not  care  to  write  ; 

But  this  I'll  tell,  a  letter  came  that  night 

To  Genevieve,  and  its  contents  I'll  disclose, 

Tho',  by  so  doing,  I  lengthen  my  list  of  saintly  foes. 

"  Hail,  Genevieve  !  the  fairest  flower 

On  Zion's  virgin  tree  ! 
Guided  by  Elohimic  power, 
I  give  my  heart  to  thee ! 


Little  Gentile. 

A  heart  that  has  not  loved  before, 

Nor  will  not  love  again ! 
Scorn  not  the  offering,  I  implore, 

But  give  ear  to  my  refrain. 
Mohim  has  commanded  me. 

A  revelation  came  down 
For  me  to  mate  at  once  with  thee, 

And  establish  now  my  kingdom. 

I've  a  thousand  cattle  on  the  hills, 

And  as  many  sheep  and  swine 
Gamboling  'mong  th'  valley  rills, 

And  half  of  them  are  thine. 
They  tell  me  that  you've  driven  away 

Zion's  exalted  brethren, 
But  'tis  revealed  that  you  will  say 

When  you'll  need  your  loving  Ben. 

If  this  wouldn't  drive  a  girl  insane, 

I  don't  know  what  would.     Ben's  "refrain" 


54  Little  Gentile. 

Was  torn  in  tatters,  and  given  to  Deseret  air ; 
And  Elohim  directed  his  loving  heart  elsewhere. 

In  Valley  Tan  he  found  pious  Josepha  Kingdom, 
Who  aspired  to  be  the  queen  of  a  celestial  kingdom. 
"Oh,  Josepha,"  rejoiced  Ben,  on  his  wedding  eve, 
"I'm  glad  I  didn't  wed  that  G-entile  Grenevieve! 
A  'purty'  queen  she  would  make.      Why,  her  very 

frown 

Would  drag  a  saint  and  all  his  kingdom  down  ! 
She  quarreled  with  her  pa,  and  wanted  me  to  take  her; 
But  she  won't  be  resurrected  if  /  am  sent  to  wake 

her." 

Oh,  false,  dissembling  man  !  how  very  oft  he  apes 
The  fox,  who  failed  to  reach  the  high  and  luscious 

grapes; 

Turning  disappointedly  from  the  prize,  he'll  say, 
Like  cunning  Lennard,   "The  grapes  are  sour,  any 

way." 


Little  Gentile.  55 

One  more  incident ;  the  last,  tho'  not  the  least. 
"Brigg"  the  Prophet's  son,  saw  Genevieve  at  a  feast 
Of  the  Passover,  or  some  kind  of  Mormon  jubilee. 
I  can't  describe  it  accurately,  as  you  plainly  see. 
"Brigg"  gazed  on  Genevieve,   then  turning  to  his 

wife, 
Bade  her  behold  the  fairest  girl  he'd  met  in  all  his 

life. 
Soon  who  was  seen  driving  to  the  Warrens  but  young 

"Brigg," 

The  finest  span  in  Zion  bringing  up  the  grandest  rig. 
Bowing  graciously,  he   began :     "  Bishop,  by  your 

leave, 
I  offer  myself  in  holy  wedlock  to  fair  Genevieve." 

Holy  Wedlock!     Dear  Heaven,  a  blush  of  shame 
Has  stained  the  cheek  of  Decency!  and  wedlock's 

name 

Is  but  a  tool  in  salacious  Priestcraft's  hand, 
Engendering  vice  and  discord  in  a  goodly  land  ! 


56  Little  Gentile. 

"Brother,"  replied  the  Bishop,  "I  wish  you  success. 
But  recently  my  child  has  caused  me  great  distress ; 
Her  strange  ways  I  cannot  understand — so  s^d 
At  times  I  almost  think  the  girl  is  going  mad ; 
Tho'  reared  in  Babylon,  taught  in  Gentile  schools, 
She  cannot  conform  at  once  to  all  our  rules. 
Exalted  brothers  have  sought  her  hand  in  vain — 
She  will  not  hear,  nor  why  will  she  explain. 
Reconcile  her  if  you  can;  the  aged  are  soon  gone." 
And,  calling  Gene  vie  ve,  he  left  the  twain  alone. 

Oh,  pure  "daughters  in  Babylon"  send  to  Heaven 
A  prayer  of  gratitude,  you  are  not  given 
A  prey  to  viciousness ;  and  invoke  the  hour 
When  right  will  overthrow  this  lascivious  power ! 

Handsome  "Brigg"  had  a  speech  appropriate  to  his 

case, 

Which  he  delivered  with  the  most  charming  grace 
To  Genevieve,  concluding  with  the  lover's  usual  sigh, 
And  waited  like  a  lover  does  for  the  girl's  reply. 


Little  Gentile.  57 

And  how  could  she  reply  to  her  much-married  beau  ? 
Why,  Genevieve,  as  usual,  bade  her  admirer  go; 
But  ere  he  went  away  —  quite  loth  to  be  defeated  — 
He  begged  to  know  why  he  should  be   so   rudely 

treated. 

What  had  he  done  ?     How  had  he  offended  ? 
He,  the  Prophet's  son,  so  highly  recommended. 

"How  have  you  offended  me?     Nay,  do  not  ask 
A  thing  you  know.     You  wear  a  hideous  mask, 
In  the  name  of  Heaven,  that  you  may  execute 
The  most  infamous  plan  on  earth  ;  you  persecute 
Bayed  Chastity,  with  the  insolent  persistency 
Of  a  demon,  and  with  the  low  inconsistency 
Of  a  fool." 

Genevieve  replied,  her  flashing  eyes 
Scintillating  her  innate  power  to  despise. 

"Knowing  my  principles,"  continued  she, 
"How  dare  you  offer  your  fractional  heart  to  me? 


58  Little  Gentile. 

For,  like  others  of  your  creed,  wives  have  not  you  ?" 
"Yes,"  answered  the  crest-fallen  "Brigg,"  "I have  a 

few." 

"Your  foul  confession,"  said  she,  "  intensifies  my  hate : 
So  Guardy,  my  dog,  will  escort  you  to  the  gate." 

And  her  faithful  friend,  obedient  to  her  command, 
Stepped  quickly  in  and  licked  the  poor  girl's  hand. 
But  the  indignant  Saint  scorned  the  escort  rude, 
And  bowed  himself  away  in  the  maddest  mood. 
And  Guardy,  incensed  by  the  well-directed  slight, 
Sprang  forth  unbidden  with  full  intent  to  bite ; 
But  changed  his  mind  ere  his  race  was  run, 
And  swapped  his  vengeance  for  a  bit  of  fun. 
For  scarce  had  Brigg,  the  somewhat  married  man, 
Turned  Zionward  his  gay,  high  spirited  span, 
When  Guardy  leaped  from  out  his  hiding  place, 
Plunging  with  mock  fury  into  each  courser's  face. 
Mad  with  fright,  they  sped  away,  heedless  of  the  rein 
That  desperation  pulled  to  check,  but  pulled  in  vain ; 


Little  Gentile.  59 

Thro'  Zion  they  dashed,  no  power  to  guide  or  stop, 
Until  EloJiim  allowed  the  prayerful  saint  to  drop 
In  Ephraim's  vale. 

"Bind  up  my  wounds,  0  Jove," 
He  said.  "  Thou  alone  canst  heal  the  wounds  of  love. 
I  mind  not  this  accident,"  he  wailed  in  plaintive  tones. 
"  Drop  me  from  tallest  peak  of  Wahsatch,  smash  all 

my  bones, 

Yet  I  would  breathe  the  blissful  breath  of  life, 
If  Thou  hadst  given  me  fair  Genevieve  to  wife ! 
But  I  am  denied  the  one  bright  boon  I  crave. 
Queen  of  my  kingdom,  whom  I  fain  would  save, 
Now  doomed  to  slumber  on  in  clammy  bed  of  clay, 
Until  thy  angel  sounds  the  last  Resurrection  Day!" 
Myriads  of  wild  sunflowers  the  vales  adorning, 
Stood  with  bowed  heads,  like  deeply  mourning 
The  fate  of  Genevieve. 

And  Jordan  gurgled  on, 
Like  bewailing  the  grief  and  fall  of  Zion's  son. 


60  Little  Gentile. 

All  nature  mourns,  thought  "Brigg,"  as  he  arose, 
Brushing  the  dust  from  off  his  costly  clothes ; 
And  to  meet  rescuing  friends,  limping  he  returns, 
Musing  how  oft  the  lamp  of  hope  an  ignis  fatuus  burns. 
His  steeds  were  gone,  his  carriage  scattered  on  the 

vale, 

And  he  alone  was  left  to  tell  the  thrilling  tale ; 
Bereft  of  varied  treasures  ;  none  nigh  to  condole  ; 
Bereft  of  e'en  the  rosebud  in  his  botton  hole ! 

And  it  came  to  pass,  when  Bishop  Warren  learned 
How  Genevieve  the  Prophet's  son  had  spurned, 
He  smote  his  breast,  and  put  ashes  on  his  head, 
Crying :  "Alas,  I  am  undone ;  would  that  I  were  dead. 
Nine  celestial  kingdoms  cannot  now  atone 
For  the  sacrilegious  work  that  Genevieve  has  done ! 
Wrap  me  in  sackcloth  !"  he  despondingly  would  rave, 
"  My  gray  hairs  will  go  down  in  sorrow  to  the  grave, 
For  my  exalted  glory  is  demolished  for  all  time, 
Unless  her  repentance  redeems  apparent  crime  ! 


Little  Gentile.  61 

Tho'  if  she  were  mad  all  would  be  well  in  heaven, 
And  her  disobedience  would  freely  be  forgiven. 
And  would  that  she  were  so;  I  should  be  exempt 
From  all  terrestrial  censure  and  contempt. 
And  she  is  insane,  and  I'll  quickly  lock  her  in, 
And  rid  myself  of  what  appears  a  leading  sin; 
And  when  'tis  known,  that  she  has  lost  her  mind, 
Ample  consolation  in  the  Church  I'll  find. 
And  should  she  recover  —  accept  in  full  our  creed, 
Then  her  prison  door  shall  ope — she  shall  be  freed. " 

So,  sacerdotal  /Sorrow  let  Sagacity  come  in, 
And  relieve  Hypocrisy  of  an  apparent  sin. 

How  long,  0  Christ,  wilt  thou  endure  the  mock 
Of  dissimulating  man?    Know'st  thou  the  Rock 
Of  thy  salvation  is  crumbling  into  sand  ! 
And  thy  broken  Church  is  floating  from  the  strand 
Of  Truth! 

Infamy 's  dark  sea  is  swallowing  up 
The  price  thou  gavest  in  Calvary's  bitter  cup! 


62  Little  Gentile. 

Genevieve's  prison  comprised  a  suit  of  rooms 
O'erlooking  a  fountain  and  the  rarest  blooms. 
Graciously  a  bough  bent  near  her  window's  sill, 
Where  gladsome  wild  birds  came  and  ate  their  fill 
From  the  little  captive's  hand. 

So  long  unblest, 

Imprisonment  was  to  her  a  haven  of  rest ; 
Tho'  she  affected  grief  when  her  father  sternly  said : 
"  Vievie,  by  your  wickedness  my  happiness  is  fled ; 
Soon  from  the  Church  of  Zion  I'll  be  cut  off  forever, 
Unless  you  at  once  from  Gentile  ways  dissever. 

You  are  my  child,  and  I  cannot  drive  you  hence. 
A  Christian  father  is  supposed  to  be  a  child's  defense ; 
So  I  will  give  you  shelter,  raiment  and  food, 
Meanwhile  you  must  remain  in  perfect  solitude. 

A  ruse  I  have  invented  to  shield  you  from  disgrace ; 
And  "that  I  may  safely  keep  the  Bishopric — a  place 


Little  Gentile.  63 

I  cannot  well  afford  to  lose.    I  fear  the  hate 
Of  the  brethren  whose  scowls  worry  me  of  late. 

We  will  tell  inquiring  friends  that  you  are  ill ; 
Or  that  'learning  hath  made  thee  mad,1  better  still. 
Thus  you  will  be  hidden,  safe  from  all  discovery, 
Until  we're  pleased  to  herald  your  complete  recovery. 

In  seclusion  you  may  see,  how  that  you  are  lost, 
And  turn  and  walk  in  the  light  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
And  if  ye  are  converted,  ten  times  ten  thousand  tongues 
Will  welcome  you  with  shouts  to  God's  elected  throngs. 
Heaven  rejoices  more  o'er  one  redeemed,  th'    Scrip- 
tures say, 
Than  o'er  ninety  and  nine  that  go  not  astray. 

You  have  the  burden  of  my  prayers.     Now  to  your 

room 

Retire,  and  there  remain  till  this  oppressive  gloom 
Is  quite  dispelled. 


64  Little  Gentile. 

I  shall  ever  hold  the  keys, 

And  none  ye'll  see,  save  your  maid  and  dog ;  these 
Your  sole  companions. 

And  soon  as  ye  are  changed, 
I'll  publish  the  glad  news  that  ye  are  not  deranged!" 

Tediously  I've  been  telling  how  a  little  "  Gentile" 
For  hated  heresy,  was  doomed  to  "  durance  vile" 
A  rarity  in  this  century  and  in  Americas  blest  land. 
For  keys  to  turn  on  unbelief,  and  by  a  father's  hand. 

But  liberty  to  Genevieve  was  nothingness  compared 
To  the  mean  indignities  which  she  daily  shared 
With  vulgar  Priesthood. 

Paternal  incarceration 
Was  hailed  as  a  refuge — a  heavenly  dispensation  ! 

'Twas  during  her  captivity  that  she  essayed  to  write 
The  Transcontinental  Poem;  but  her  failure  quite 
No  comment  needs. 


Little  Gentile.  65 

Illiterate  Bunyan,  in  his  cell, 
Wrote  his  "dreamy  experience,"  and  wrote  it  well; 
Pleasing  at  least  to  Orthodoxy r,  who  in  that  age  per- 
verted 

Would  have  canonized  a  cannibal  if  he  had  been  con- 
verted. 

But  for  joyless  Genevieve  a  different  case  I  plead. 
Captive  'neath  parental  roof,  dissenter  from  parental 

creed, 
Crouching   to  Dissimulation,  clad   in  Lunacy's  low 

guise, 
To  hide  the  purest  principles  from  Bigot's  prying  eyes. 

Under  what  hallucination  should  she  think  of  writing 
When  her  persecutors  all  her  joys  were  blighting  ? 
But  perchance  the  lonely  girl  solace  found  in  jingling 

rhyme, 
And  wrote  her  wild,  disjointed^verse  by  way  of  killing 

time. 
3 


<;6  Little  Gentile. 

Undoubtedly  she  did,  poor  child ;  and  I  pity  her  sin- 
cerely, 

For  how  frequently  in  Ariel s  song,  and  how  clearly, 
Vague  unrest  is  shown,  murmuring,  pleading  grief, 
Only  known  to  the  benighted,  stranded  on  the  reef 
Of  Uncertainty. 

Denying  God,  yet  calling  on  his  name ; 
Denying  the  Redemption,  yet  clinging  to  the  same ; 
Denying  the  eternal  boon  promised  to  the  soul, 
Yet  pointing  a  despairing  brother  to  an  eternal  goal. 

And   who   would   not  doubt  the  "High   Oracles  of 

Heaven" 
When  a  stone  instead  of  bread  to  Hunger  s  cry  was 

given  ? 

And  who  would  not  yield  to  wonder  and  dismay, 
When  the  shrine  to  which  they  knelt  crumbled  into 

clay? 

And  G-enevieve  was  in  her  most  melancholy  mood, 
When  Isaline  "intruded  upon  her  solitude." 


Little  Gentile.  67 

Strangers  were  they,  yet  from  first  glance  they  knew 
Congenial  souls  had  met,  and  immediately  threw 
Reserve  aside ;  each  told  her  sorrows  to  the  other, 
And   sympathy  grew  stronger  when  neither  had  a 
mother. 

I  cannot  tell  Isaline's  story  just  as  she  told  it  then, 
For  girls  talk  in  a  way  of  their  own,  especially  when 
They  are  alone,  and  personal  wrongs  their  theme, 
Both  victims  of  a  creed  they  despised  in  the  extreme ; 
Isaline   decoyed    from   home,  Genevieve  imprisoned 

there — 
Isaline  resigned,  Genevieve  wailing  in  despair. 

Both  were  young  and  beautiful — Isa  scarce  eighteen, 
Whilst  only  twenty  summers  Genevieve  had  seen ; 
The  charms  of  Isa  were  of  that  "  radiant'*  kind 
We  all  adore  so  much,  and  yet  so  seldom  find. 

A  wealth  of  yellow  hair,  outshining  seeds  of  gold, 
Floated  o'er  a  Hebe-like  form,  from  head  of  classic  mold, 


68  Little  Gentile. 

And  eyes,  the  "windows  of  the  soul"  soft  and  brown, 
Revealing  principles  as  priceless  as  a  jeweled  crown. 

A  pen  portrait  of  Genevieve  I  should  certainly  decline : 
A  task  too  great  for  justice  in  this  "  lowly  lay  of  mine." 
Good  as  she  was  beautiful,  and  curious  inquirers 
Should  not  compute  those  merits  by  the  girl's  admirers. 

Had  she  been  in  Babylon  instead  of  Zion,  where 
Souls  are  often  saved  (?}  by  skeins  of  silken  hair, 
Where  winsome  eyes,  dewy  lips  and  rose-leaf  com- 
plexion 

Are  a  certain  guarantee  for  woman's  early  resurrection ; 
Had  she  been  in  Babylon,  instead  of  saintly  fold, 
A  different  tale  of  Genevieve  might  happily  be  told; 
Description  would  not  hesitate,  when  required  to  tell 
Of  the  transcendent  virtues  and  beauties  of  a  belle. 

A  fastidious  sentiment  pervades  the  common  mind, 
That  evil  associations  will  corrupt  the  most  refined ; 


Little  Gentile.  69 

And  appropriate  to  this  notion  is  a  maxim  not  the 

truest, 
"If  thou'lt  tell  me  where  thou  goest,  then  Til  tell  thee 

what  thou  doest." 
But  the  case  of  Isa  and  Genevieve  plainly  serves  to 

show, 
That  censure  should  not  follow  where  we  are  doomed 

to  go. 

For  a  jewel  is  a  jewel  still,  tho'  into/  filth  we  fling  it, 
And  gold  is  pure  bright  gold,  tho'  from  the  dirt  we 

bring  it ; 
And  a  noble  soul  is  just  the  same,  no  matter  where 

'tis  seen, 
Tho'  G-rundy   on  appearances  pours    her   malicious 

spleen. 

"  Angelia,"  said  Bishop  Warren  to  his  wife,  one  eve, 
"  Our  home  is  dark  and  desolate  without  our  Gene- 
vieve ; 


70  Little  Gentile. 

Far  better  had  she  died,  for  her  imprisonment 
Fills  all  the  house  with  gloom  and  discontent. 
My  conscience  pleads,  and  I  would  liberate  the  girl 
But  for  the  wrath  the  brethren  would  upon  me  hurl. 

They  think  that  she's  insane,  and  I  have  told  it,  too, 
Until  I  often  think  myself  the  horrid  tale  is  true. 
I  have  preached   it  in   the  pulpit,  to  congregations 

sad. 

That  I  am  broken-hearted  because  my  child  is  mad! 
And  when  sisters  weep,  shame  burns  my  cheek — 
I  think  of  Ananias,  and  can  scarcely  speak; 
I  know  the  part  I'm  playing  is  pure  Hypocrisy, 
But  'tis  either  this,  Angelia,  or  vile  ''Apostasy.' ' 

"Yes,  Moses,  I  grieve,"  the  pious  spouse  replied, 
"To   see   you   daily    struggling  'gainst   an   adverse 

tide ; 

But  you  should  remember  the  crown  we  cannot  wear, 
Unless  the  heavy  cross  we  uncomplaining  bear ; 


Little  Gentile.  71 

Th'  laborer  in  th'  vineyard  and  th'   coming  of  th' 

Master 
Should   encourage   you   to  triumph  o'er   trials   and 

disaster. 
Think  not  of  apostasy — Satan  is  tempting  you  to 

stray : 

The  darkest  hour  is  just  before  the  dawning  of  the  day. 
So  I  told  a  sweet  young  girl,  whom  I  met  this  morn, 
Wandering  near  the  Tabernacle,  tearful  and  forlorn. 

And  she  was  the  sweetest  child  you  ever  did  behold ; 
The  tiniest  feet  and  hands,  and  hair  like  burnished 

gold, 
That  fell  about  the  little  waif  a  shower  of  shining 

curls. 
I  coaxed  a  smile,  and  her  teeth  looked  like  a  row  of 

pearls  — 
So  very  small    I   almost   thought  the   girl    a   fairy 

queen ; 
She  told  her  name,  but  I  forget,  only  Isaline. 


72  Little  Gentile. 

She,  hesitating,  told  of  intrigue,  or  something  of  the 

kind  ; 
How  she  had  been  sent  to  friends  whom  she  could  not 

find. 

The  little  outcast — Moses  don't  scowl  so,  for  I  know 
The  girl  is  good  ;  he  that  is  without  sin  let  him  throw 
The  first  stone  at  her.    And  I  thought  we  could  afford 
To  give  the  child  a  home — decent  bed  and  board. 
It  is  our  Christian  duty.     Let  her  teach  little  Belle, 
And  we  will  be  practicing  what  we  preach  as  well. 
And,  Moses,  may  she  come  ?     I  told  her  I  would  see 
What  you  thought  about  it,  and  if  we  could  agree 
We'd   send   for   her  to-night;    poor  homeless   little 

thing, 
By  lending  her  a  helping  hand  a  blessing  we  may 

bring." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Bishop,  "you  may  bring  the  girl,  I 

guess ; 
Tho'  to  entertain  a  Grentile  may  add  to  my  distress ; 


Little  Gentile.  73 

For  envy  and  suspicion  look  round  me  day  and  night, 
Watching  every  movement,  my  exaltedness  to  blight. 
But  the  good  Samaritan  hand  to  the  wanderer  extend, 
Since  merciless  old  Babylon  has  ceased  to  be  her 

friend. 
But  does  n't  it  seem  queer  that  with  us  she  would 

abide, 
When  to  all  the  world  we  are  so  scandalously  belied. 

But  welcome  the  stranger  in  spite  of  threatening  fates. 
We  may  entertain  an  angel  within  our  wretched  gates. 
If  guileless,  she  may  serve  to  save  our  little  fold, 
Like  the  Sodom  and  Gomorrah's  good  in  the  days  of 

old; 

And  tho'we  victims  fall  'neath  Envy's  two-edged  sword, 
Teach  the  little  Gentile  our  'Holiness  to  the  Lord.' ' 

Well  done,  Moses  and  Angelia  !     Long  may  you  live 
"In  the  land  the  Lord  thy  God  giveth  thee."    I  can 
not  give 


74  Little  Gentile. 

A  better  blessing,   for  I  am  among  Publicans  and 
sinners. 

But,  thro'  your  uncommon   kindness  to  Isa,  you  are 
winners 

Of  my  esteem  and  gratitude,  and  if  e'er  I  chance  to  be 

In  Zion  I  shall  be  pleased  to  call  around  and  see 

Her  benefactors. 

Though  I  abhor  your  marriage  institution, 

Like  the  seven  righteous,  you  have  made  ample  resti- 
tution. 

'Twas  a  redeeming  deed,  and  could  I  command  the 
power, 

I'd  fix  Envy  and  the  Bishopric  from  this  very  hour. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  the  "deluded  little  mouse" 
Was  cosily  ensconced  in  a  Morman  bishop's  house. 
The  sad  truth  she  had  learned   that  her  aunt  and 

Annabel 
Had  decoyed  her  from  home ;  but  why  she  could  not 

tell. 


Little  Gentile.  75 

Pleading  letters  she  had  written,  but  answers  never 
came 

From  the  loving  cousin  nor  the  sanctimonious  dame. 

She  never  wrote  to  others;  she'd  not  make  known  th' 
fact 

That  the  Winsors  would  be  guilty  of  such  low  decep- 
tive act. 

Proud  as  her  ancestors,  her  closely  guarded  history 
Was  to  the  Warrens  an  unfathomable  mystery. 
So  with  her  books  and  little  Belle  time  went  quickly  by 
And  the  night  of  sorrow  vanished  in  contentment's 
sunny  sky. 

"How  very  fortunate  I  met  you,"  Angelia  Warren 

said 
To  Isaline.     "  At  first,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  really 

afraid 

The  Bishop  would  refuse ;    but  when  I  said  my  say, 
I  was  surprised  to  see  his  cold  look  pass  away. 


76  Little  Gentile. 

And  surprise  became  astonishment  when  his  speech 

Agreed  with  me  precisely,  to  practice  what  we  preach. 

And  yet  I  am  not  hinting  that  I  took  you  in  for 
charity, 

But  a  friendly  hand  to  the  enemy  in  Zion  is  a  pity. 

And  I  do  believe,  if  I'd  not  been  by  your  tears 
attracted, 

Your  grief  would  have  driven  you  plum,  raving  dis- 
tracted. 

Or  if  the  River  Jordan  had  been  near  as  our  ''inland 
sea,' 

You  would  have  sent  your  weary  soul  from  earthly 
trials  free. 

But  I  chanced  in  the  nick  of  time,  my  little  girl  to 
save 

From  the  house  of  crazy  brains,  or  an  untimely  grave. 

And  you'll  remain  with  us  forever,  won't  you,  Isaline? 
You  dislike,  of  course,  th'  Mormon  faith ;  but  when 
you've  seen 


Little  Gentile.  77 

Ten  thousand  saints  in  the  Tabernacle,  listening  to 
th'  voice 

Of  the  Prophet,  who  reveals,  and  ten  thousand  tongues 
rejoice, 

Then  from  off  your  drowsy  eyes  the  heavy  scales  will 
fall; 

Then  all  your  G-entile  views  you'll  penitently  recall ; 

Then  the  Church  will  sing  hosanna  for  the  rescued 
lamb ; 

Then  with  Israel's  Holy  Virgins  you'll  wave  Salva- 
tion's palm. 

Plural  marriage  is  the  greatest  fault  sectarians  find 

with  us, 
The  mighty  bugbear  over  which  they'll  never  cease  to 

fuss, 
And  hoot,  and  sneer,  when  from  the  fountain  head  we 

get 

The  polygamous  examples  our  good  forefathers  set. 
Abraham,  Isaac  and  Jacob,  leading  men  of  old, 
Were,  more  or  less,  polygamous ;  and  yet  we  are  told 


78  •  Little  Gentile. 

That  we're  an  erring  people,  religiously  benighted, 

When  we  follow  in  the  wake  that  God  and  angels 
lighted. 

And   the  New  Jerusalem  that  John,  the  revelator, 
saw, 

Proves  our  sanctified  religion  without  a  single  flaw  — 

Especially  polygamy. 

The  eternal  city  had  twelve  gates, 

Representing  the  twelve  tribes  of  Israel ;  and  on  golden 
plates, 

Wrought  in  pearls  and  precious  stones,  the  twelve 
names 

Of  Jacob's  sons  were  seen,  amid  the  transcendent 
flames 

Of  heavenly  light,  looking  from  above  each  holy  arch- 
way high, 

And  '  saluting,  as  it  were,  the  different  quarters  of  the 

*%;' 

Proving  to  all  ages,  and  they  who  run  may  read, 
That  we  are  not  astray  from  the  established  creed. 


Little  Gentile.  79 

And,  Isa,  if  ye  are  not  married  on  the  judgment  day, 
Do  you  know  your  doom  ?    The  good  angels  will  con- 
vey 

Your  little  soul  to  Paradise,  a  place  for  lost  spirits 
Set  apart,  where  it  will  remain  till  it  inherits 
Celestial  glory. 

'Mong  the  Saints,  all  can  be  married, 
Tho'  to  the  eleventh  hour  in  single  life  they've  tarried : 
But  our  girls  rarely  wait  until  they're  old  to  wed;  then 
They  will  not  choose  the  most  exalted  brethren. 
When  the  rose  and  lily  blend  in  bloom,  we  choose  our 

lot, 
And  none  but  an  apostate  breaks  the  blest  hymeneal 

knot ; 
Tho'  a  tale  goes  round  .in  Babylon — as  false  as  it  is 

rife— 
That  when  we  women  wed  we  enslave  ourselves  for 

life. 

'Tis  a  ridiculous  idea  of  the  most  wretched  kind, 
For  happier  wives  than  we  on  earth  you  cannot  find. 


80  Little  Gentile. 

Tho'  we've  tares  among  the  wheat;  oft  a  jealous- 
hearted  puss 

Weds  into  a  happy  family  to  create  domestic  fuss. 

Our  lost  Magdalenes  are  they,  and  their  evil  ways 

Do  our  Church  more  harm  than  all  Gentile  dispraise. 

Our  greatest  mischief-maker  was  Ann  Eliza  Young. 

See  what  she  has  done  with  her  false,  deceitful 
tongue ! 

Not  satisfied  with  lecturing  scandal  into  every  nook, 

But  she   must   up    and  write  the  most  sacrilegious 

book. 

• 

She  entered  the  harem  blindly  —  she  thought  it  was 

her  duty — 
A  victim  of  a  prophet  false,  and  of  her  own  great 

beauty  ! 
The  modest  plaintiff  tells,  when  the  poor  disconsolate 

dove 
Would  not  have  flown  if  she  had  got  a  new  cooking 

stove. 


Little  Gentile.  81 

Dear  me  !  how  I've  been  talking  !     And  yet  I  have 

not  said 

What  I  wished,  so  many  things  crowd  into  my  head 
When  I  talk  of  our  blest  religion.    What  I  meant  to  say 
Is  this :  You  are  fair  and  good,  my  child,  and  the  day 
Is  not  far  distant  when — " 

What  she  tried  in  vain  to  tell  lies  in  Lethe's  stream. 
The  announcement  of  callers  changed  th'  irksome 

theme ; 

And  I  am  spared  narrating  what  can  readily  be  guessed, 
And  Isa  was  relieved  pro  tern,  of  the  "religion  blest." 
*  #  *  *  *  *  * 

Since  this  tale  began,  full  five  months  have  flown, 

And  Genevieve  and  Isaline  th'  fondest  friends  have 
grown. 

For  good  behavior  partial  freedom  was  allotted  Gene- 
vieve; 

And  now  the  friends  inseparable  meet  morning,  noon 
and  eve. 


82  Little  Gentile. 

Like  a  traveler  on  a  burning  desert,  ere  he  droops  and 

dies, 

An  oasis  of  fruit  and  fountains  before  his  vision  lies ; 
Ere  he  tastes  the  cooling  waters,  ere  he  plucks  the 

laden  vine, 
His  swooning  hope  revives,  and  sees  the  Providing 

hand  Divine. 

And  fickle  Faith,  departed,  now  flies  back  to  tell, 
"As  I  told  thee,  spirit,  'He  doeth  all  things  well.'  ' 

Blest  with  her  sweet  associate,  Genevieve  now  owns 
That  for  every  sorrow  we  endure  some  certain  joy 

atones ; 
That  when  by  strong  adversity  we  bow  and  kiss  the 

rod, 
'Tis  that  we  may  see  and  own  our  eternal  Crod. 

Alas  for  Genevieve  !  for  whoever  yet  has  known 
Hope's  blooms  to  live  where  weeds  of  doubt  have 
grown  ? 


Little  Gentile.  83 

A  precious  boon  is  perfect  faith,  and  yet  I  am  inclined 
To  think  that  perfect  faith  ne'er  reposed  in  mortal  mind. 

When  deep  autumnal  dyes  glowed  in  EphraMs  vales, 
And  Flora  s  sad  adieus  were  borne  on  Deseret  gales 
To  Zion,  the  Prophet  lifted  up  his  voice  and  cried 

aloud, 
*'  Prepare  the  way,  for  lo  !  there  comes  a  Babylonian 

crowd 

With  truce  and  peace  offering — a  once  high-handed  foe  ! 
Throw  wide  the  gates  and  let  the  blood  of  vintage  flow, 
And  let  the  flesh  of  fatted  calf  supply  each  saintly 

board, 
And  share  with  the  friendly  G-entiles  the  bounties  of 

the  Lord  ! 

Tho'  they  drove  us  from  our  Cana  into  the  desert  wild, 
Because  our  Revelation  their  systems  pure  defiled  ! 
But  when  we  show  the  sinners  that  we  are  Saints  in- 
deed, 
It  will  be  well  with  us  and  our  persecuted  creed." 


84  Little  Gentile. 

Throngs  of  visitors  and  tourists  from  every  section 
came. 

To  behold  the  modern  Canaan,  of  Patriarchal  fame; 

And  Columbia  to.  the  Zionites  paid  the  highest  com- 
pliment 

When  her  Chief  Ruler  called  upon  the  Mormon  Presi- 
dent, 

"  Bring  the  wounded  man  in  here,  for  on  suffering 

humanity 
My  doors  are  never  closed  !" 

With  religious  vanity 

Bishop  Warren  spoke,  as  he  quickly  led  the  way 
For  strangers  who  bore  the  unconscious  form  oiRay — 
Ray  Hamlin,  for  whom  Madam  Winsor  banished 
Isaline.     But  now  at  last  her  cherished  hopes  are  van- 
ished, 
For  the  maids  attended  when  they  chanced  th'  sad 

case  to  discover, 

And  Isa  swooned  when  she  beheld  Annabels  recreant 
lover  ! 


Little  Gentile.  85 

So  pale  and  still,  in  death  he  seemed — giving  no  sign 
Of  life — laid  low,  they  said,  by  William's  foul  design. 
"  Bear  the  drooping  lily  out.  What  does  she  here  ? 
And  you,  Genevieve,  away  at  once  !  Do  you  not  fear 
A  gory  spectacle  ?  Some  women  are  so  weak  they 

can't  endure 
A  petty  sting  or  pain  or  scratch  on  the  hand,  but 

they  must  cure 

It  with  a  faint.     Fallen  from  his  pocket,  what  is  this  ? 
Bless  me,  brethren,  'tis  a  likeness  of  the  swooning  miss! 
Ah,  fast  my  eyes  are  opening !  and  I  now  behold 
In  this  little  case  of  velvet,  gems  and  gold, 
The  Little  Gentile's  story.     She  has  long  concealed 
What  Tragedy  and  Accident  have  generously  revealed. 
The  unfortunate  Babylonian  and  "  Pansey  Eye"  are 

lovers, 

And  he  will  carry  her  away  as  soon  as  he  recovers. 
He  revives  !    The  laying  on  of  hands  I  wouldn't  give 
For  all  the  'learned  physicians'  that  are  allowed  to 

live!" 


86  Little  Gentile. 

And  the  enthusiastic  bishop  spoke  in  such  excited 

way 
That   he   awoke,  as  from   a  sleep,   the  unconscious 

Ray, 
Who,   looking  up,  inquired  at  once  if  he  was  badly 

hurt. 

u  No,  my  friend,"  replied  the  bishop  ;  "  a  little  blood 

and  dirt 

Shows  you  in  a  sorry  plight.     It  was  a  stunning  blow 
The  ruffian  gave,  but  nothing  more ;  in  a  day  or  s*o 
You'll  be  sound  as  a  dollar,  and  meanwhile 
Keep  the  room  you  have ;  though  our  Western  style 
May  fail  to  please.  'A  low  church  and  high  steeple ' 
Illy  represents  the  aims  of  the  Mormon  people. 

Here's  a  miniature  that  from  your  pocket  fell, 
Unclasped ;  I  picked  it  up,  and,  very  strange  to  tell, 
It  is  a  perfect  likeness  of  our  little  governess, 
Who  soon  as  she  heheld  you  lost  her  consciousness. 


Little  Gentile.  87 

Ah,  you're  worse;  your  pillow  ;"  thus  went  on  th'  cun- 
ning Saint, 

"  It  was  the  sight  of  blood,  of  course,  that  caused  the 
girl  to  faint." 

"What  is  the  young  lady's  name?''  asked  Hamlin, 
in  confusion. 

"It  cannot  be,"  he  murmured.  "It  must  be  a  delu- 
sion." 

"Her  name  ?    Well,  now,  I  do  declare,  I  can't  call  it 

to  mind. 
I  always  call  her  Puss  or  Pug,  or  something  of  the 

kind. 

But  Angelia  knows.    Angelia,  what  is  Puggy's  name  ? 
I  vow    I've  never  spoken  it  once  since  the  day  she 

came.". 

" Moses,  you  astonish  me!"  the  ^mm'-cultured  woman 

said, 
And  her  white  cheeks  glowed  with  a  sudden  dash  of  red. 


88  Little  Gentile. 

"  Your  domestic  privilege  of  unrebuked  familiarity 
Is  certainly  to  the  stranger's  ear  an  absolute  vulgarity. 
This  vase  of  fresh  flowers,  the  young  ladies  send  ; 
And  what  delicious  fragrance  the  Phlox  roses  lend." 

"'But  your  rebuke  and  roses  are  not  answering  me, 

by  far. 

What  stubborn,  willful  creatures  all  these  women  are," 
The  irate  bishop  interrupted.  "  But  now  her  name 
Burns  in  my  memory  like  Inspiration's  flame. 
Isaline!    Strange  I  should  forget  when  I  hear 
It  every  day. 

Sir,  the  loss  of  blood  weakens  you,  I  fear, 
Worse  than  we  thought;   but  consider  yourself  our 

guest, 
And  recovery  will  follow  sufficient  care  and  rest." 


"Annabel,  entreat  Isa's  quick  return.    I  yet  may  live 
To  regain  her  presence  and  complete  confession  give. 


Little  Gentile. 


What  matters  now  all  the  wealth  the  world  bestows, 
When  the  soul  is  racked  in  death  by  penitential  throes. 
Eternal  justice  pleads,  but  a  swift  approaching  pall 
Spares    time  but   for   remorse   for    a   deed   beyond 

recall. 
But,  no ;  it  must  not  be  !     The  good  messenger,  beg 

him 
To   make   all   haste.      Tho'  my  lamp  of  life  burns 

dim, 

Hope's  gleams  illume  the  darksome  vale,  and  I  behold 
The  girl  whom  I  exchanged  for  alluring  gold, 
That  proved  a  gilded  grief;  for  they  came  from  th' 

dead, 
Isa's  parents,  in  phantom  form,  following  with  noiseless 

tread 
My  every  footstep. 

And  should  Ray  Hamlin  e'er  return 
And  behold  my  fallen  snare,  pray  bid  him  not  spurn 
My  plea  for  pardon.     Dear  Heaven,  had  I  th'  power 
To  undo  the  wretched  work  of  one  ill-guarded  hour ! " 


90  Little  Gentile. 

Futile  prayer  and  penitence ;  for  soon  unwelcome  came 

Death's  blighting  breath,  extinguishing  th'  feebly 
flutt'ring  flame. 

Whilst  'neath  th'  purple  horizon  its  beams  of  day 
descend, 

The  Mortal  with  Immortal  for  victory  contend. 

But  ere  Night  o'ershadowed  Eve's  golden  glory 
spread, 

Th'  regal  Madam  Winsor  was  numb  Yd  with  the  dead; 

And  whilst  yet  on  th'  sinless  clay  sentineled  tapers 
burn, 

Hamlin  and  the  exiled  girl  unexpectedly  return. 

Joy  and  Grief  blend  in  embrace.  Mournful  Annabel 
is  glad. 

Th'  heart  that  late  to  sorrow  bowed  is  now  with  rap- 
ture mad. 

Unmindful  of  decorous  rule,  or  the  ogling  eye  of 
pride, 

She  hailed  with  joy  triumphant  Ray  and  his  beau- 
teous bride. 


Little  Gentile.  91 

"Welcome,  birdling,  to  th'  home  nest  from  which  you 

have  been  flown  ; 
Welcome,  wanderer,  to  a  heritage   that  was  and  is 

your  own." 
(Here,  sudden  retrospection  showed  an  evil,  by-gone 

day, 
A  cruel  deed,  and  the  vain  regret  of  a  soul  just  passed 

away.) 
"And,  oh,  forgive  the  dead!"  she  cried.    "I  to  th' 

dead  am  true  ! 
The  prayer  my   penitent   mother  prayed   I  quickly 

pray  to  you  ! 
'Tis  th'  burden   of  her  latest  thought,  the  echo  of 

dying  breath  — 
The  tongue  that  pray'd  your  pardon  is  scarcely  cold 

in  death. 
The  sin  half  mine,  but  from  the  blame  I  would  th' 

dead  release  — 
Forgive   but    her,  victorious   girl,  and  I   depart   in 

peace !  " 


92  Little  Gentile. 

\ 

Kissing  the  weeping  Annabel,  Isa  answered  through 

her  tears : 
"No  offense  of  yours,  my  cousin,  in  past  or  future 

years, 

Can  turn  my  love  to  hate,  or  bid  you  from  me  depart. 
Half  of   Winsor  is  your  own ;   nestle  safely  by  my 

heart." 
And  bending  o'er  th'  dead  she  murmured,  u  Auntie  is 

forgiven." 
Surely  angels  do  not  always  stay  exclusively  in  heaven. 

Genevieve  is  married,  too;  yes,  married  and  gone, 
And  I  must  not  forget  to  tell  how  the  thing  was  done. 
It  came  to  pass — oh,  what  a  funny  thing  to  "come 

to  pass," 
The  elopement  of  a  Gentile  with  a  lovely  Mormon 

lass ! 
Eloped  !    It  was  their  only  chance.    Broke  a  lock  and 

skipped ; 
Took  the  first  train  to  the  Golden  Gate  and  shipped 


Little  Gentile.  93 

Heaven  knows  where.     'Twas  th'  night  th'  Prophet 

died, 

And  all  was  lamentation — when  men  and  women  cried, 
And  had  not  their  wits  about  them.     "  Oh,  propitious 

eve," 
Mused  the  love-sick  Babylonian,  "  to  bear  my  Gene- 

vieve 
From  her  prison  home.      To-night  thj  Bishop  smotes 

his  breast, 
And  thinks,  of  course,  his  captive  girl  is  sinfully  at 

rest. 
Til  seize  the  prize,  oblivious  he  of  growling  dog  or 

dicky  gate,  » 

As  he  howling  piles  the  ashes  on  his  bald  and  brainless 

pate!" 

So  said,  so  done;    and,  strange  to  say,  on  that  very 

night 
The  old  Bishop  had  a  vision.      He  saw  th'  lovers 

flight, 


94  Little  Gentile. 

Just  as  it  was,  but  only  thought  his  visions  were  de- 
ceiving ; 

That  this  no  evil  did  foreshow,  and  was  not  worth 
believing. 

But  when  next  mofn  Angelia  ran  to  and  fro  and  said, 
"/  told  you  so ;  the  lock  is  broke,  and  Genevieve  is 

fled!" 
"My  vision  told  me  so,"  he  raved;  "  it  is  a  Gentile's 

trick. 

My  kingdom's  gone !  I  am  undone !  Oh,  my 
Bishopric  !  " 

Th'  Bishop  holds  th'  Priesthood  still — with  Gene- 
vieve all  is  well  — 

But  who  the  "Babylonian"  was,  I  know,  but  will 
not  tell  ; 

Tho'  I've  yet  a  truth  from  Zion,  that  fiction  cannot 
equal, 

And  the  choice  gem  is  found  in  "Little  G-entiles1 
sequel. 


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